


Anthology

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Deadly Class (Comics), Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, mutual pining and a prophesized not terrible ending!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-02-26 16:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18720805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: Both of you broke at least a thousand personal rules, broke centuries worth of boundary spells and absolutely crushed the walls of crystalline brick and liquid steel mortar you’ve built up around your minds, your feelings, the truest part of yourselves. You didn’t know how, and you didn’t know why, but  things became different between the two of you. || Touches on the ending raid (so spoilers) and I fix it so Lex lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lex isnt dead okay, you can get shot in the chest and Not Die. so did i really fix anything if he's been alive this whole time?? (im not in denial, nope not me!)
> 
> also this was requested on tumblr (find me @ladyofstardvst)

**_Before_.**

“ _Love is not all honeydew. When he torments us, love becomes an even sweeter god.” -Asclepiades, “Epigrams.”_

 

No one knew the true faces of anyone attending King’s Dominion.

No one knew who _you_ were at your core.

No one knew who Victor or Petra or Saya _really_ were underneath the masks they constantly wore thanks to the training instilled into their skulls - _your_ skull - and the instincts that slunk through their veins.

No one knew who their friends were, not _really._

Except maybe Lex. And except maybe you.

Both of you broke at least a thousand personal rules, broke centuries worth of boundary spells and absolutely crushed the walls of crystalline brick and liquid steel mortar you’ve built up around your minds, your feelings, the truest part of yourselves. You didn’t know _how_ , and you didn’t know _why_ , but things became different between the two of yo u. It began slowly, and it began carefully. It felt like you were walking on broken glass stained with liquid mercury when the veils you hid under began to ever so slowly fall from your silhouettes, and then eventually, dissolved all together.

More often than not, Lex was, well, _Lex_. You wanted to throw him to the ground and shove his brass knuckles straight up his ass, most days. He was vile and insensitive and in every way someone that belonged with no one who loved themselves enough to know better.

That was the mask he chose to wear, you had come to learn.

Over time you found yourselves alone on the roof or in the cemetery; always long after everyone else had enough of being conscious a second longer than they needed to be. More often than not, it was the lateness of the hour you were both drunk on, and the mistakes of letting your masks slip inch by inch every hour you were alone at the height of the darkest nights. You were too enamored with each other in those moments to even begin to understand the strength of the witchcraft or alchemy or just pure _magic_ that lingered between you to cause yourselves to be free and unmasked and _true_ , in those moments.

Especially when others have tried and _tried_ and _failed_ so miserably, they made the tragedy of _Henry VIII_ look like the biggest success of Shakespeare’s career.

When the sun rose, dawn swept the thunderclouds over the rarity of honesty and naked souls, bringing instead the secrets back out to play. Instead of light illuminating, it threw everything and everyone back into darkness and kept the severity of yourselves away from prying eyes and listening ears. It brought banter between you and your friends, you and your enemies, you and everyone in-between. After enough time, eventually it brought a tilt of the lips here, or a lingering hand on your back from Lex when everyone’s eyes were anywhere but on the two of you. It was almost as if he were carving the mark for a deeper blow, when the stars were aligned.

The opportunity became clearer and clearer as the winter holidays quickly became an event no one could help but acknowledge. The break you were all promised hung over your heads as it crept closer and closer and became so real you could almost taste the freedom on your tongue.

It was then, when Lex told you in the silky smooth silence of his room that he was going home for the holidays, and he was about to ask you if -

“We need your help.”

You and Lex jumped five feet away from each other so fast, you almost threw yourself off the foot of his bed.

The Vegas Crew arrived in dramatic style – like they knew how to do _anything_ else- and that was the end of things as you knew them.

 

**_After_.**

“ _I am creating memories that one day will bring me melancholy and despair.” -Ernesto Sabato, “The Tunnel.”_

 

Two days before you’re about to die, Lex had you pushed up against a grimy venue wall in the middle of the Adolescents’ set, the song Brats in Battalions all you could hear. You accidentally claimed a corner of the venue as your own after he returned from hiding the ungodly amount of explosives in the back of Lost Innocence Comics. You didn’t see him arrive, but instead felt a pull on your arm, then your back hit the wall and his lips had melted into yours.

All memory of who you came here with, where you were and what you were here to do ceased to exist while his hands held your waist hard enough to leave bruises. Your own gripped his shoulders to pull him _closer_. You pushed and pulled yourselves into the kiss while it tore the air from your lungs, the intensity burning it up before you could fill your being with anything other than _him_.

(What was a mask and why did you need one? You couldn’t remember.)

You didn’t know what breath _was_ when he tore away from you and lost himself in the crowd.

The next time you saw him, he didn’t know what eye contact was either.

There were mere _minutes_ left, until the plan began; until you and your closest friends and family embarked on the suicide mission to end all suicide missions. You were . . . jumpy. Nervous. Afraid and exhilarated all at once. This was what you had been trained for. What the goal of attending King’s was all _about_.

At the heart of that night, when you tore and scraped the skin and muscle away until you got down to the bare bones of it all – you just wanted to live long enough to make sure someone silenced Chester _forever_.

And Lex couldn’t even _look at you_.

There were mere _minutes_ left, and you managed to steal a few of them, to be alone in the tuck while the others argued outside the closed metal doors.

“What,” you began slowly, voice quiet enough no one else would hear a thing, “the _hell_ were you doing last night?”

Lex doesn’t stop checking his handiwork on the explosives or his weapons or his stolen mailman uniform. He still doesn’t look at you. “You’re going to have to be more specific than _that_ , love. I was up to a lot of shit last night.”

You could see his shit-eating grin from six feet away, and it was like one of his bombs exploded inside of your stomach. All you saw were stars and blood and wreckage. All of that wreckage was _your_ blood and _your_ heart and _your_ soul being ripped into pieces and laid out on the ground between the two of you like some sort of religious offering.

(Maybe it _was_ , in the end.)

The overwhelming feeling of _being hurt_ hit you like a goddamn MAC truck and you realized, then. You realized how Prometheus felt, doomed to live his life chained to that cliff, to have a giant _fucking_ _eagle_ eat out his liver every single day for the rest of his immortal life. You knew how it felt to have it grow back overnight, only to have that eagle come back and rinse and repeat for the rest of your days.

You knew, because you were Prometheus, and Lex was the eagle.

You were not going to walk with death that nigh with someone – _for_ someone – who insisted on playing games right until the very end. Your masks had to come off, and they needed to come off _permanently_. At least around each other.

You looked at Lex like an angry, wounded animal until he did, finally, look at you.

“Whatever _this_ is,” you said, forcing your vocal cords to become steel, to shed all memory of being flesh and muscle and organic matter. They had to be _unbreakable_ , otherwise you would never speak again. “I’m out, after tonight. You can find someone else to play these late night games with, unless you and I can find the balls to be _real_ with each other for once in our lives before we go fight to the goddamn death like some _bullshit_ Gladiator match.”

A beat of silence.

He broke and looked away.

“Look -” he starts, stops, looked at you again. Brought his hands back to hook behind his head for a split second. He’s moving towards you then, only stopped about a foot away. Guilt had taken a temporary home on his features. “You know I’m not . . . good at this _feeling_ _thing_ and shit.”

Emotion flashed through his eyes – more than you’ve ever seen. You expected them to vanish as quick as they appeared, but they stayed. They stayed and they deepened and maybe there really _is_ some truth about the eyes being the gateway to one’s soul. You stood there and you stare and stare and _stare_ and you get it, you _know you do_ , but you just want to hear him _say_ it.

“Come on, love, you know me better than that,” the way he said it sounded like a plea and maybe – you knew this wasn’t the time for games.

Joy and anger and desire and despair  were the feelings that called home in  _you_ at that moment.

You ran out of time for words, the conversation outside was wrapping up, voices were dropping off and shadows edged closer and closer to the closed doors of the truck – someone is bound to open them any second – so your fingers curled into the collar of his leather and pulled him into a kiss. The leather was soft, and his hands were gentle when they pull you closer to him for the second time in 24 hours.

Neither of you were great with words, you were better with actions.

You pour every fruitless attempt at a serious conversation into that kiss and you hold on as tight as you can because, well, because this may be the only time you’re ever allowed to do so.

He pulled away first, not going far, and you were both breathless again, looking anywhere but the eyes.

“Right, so,” he starts in a rush, eyes glued to the shadows beyond the door behind you. “If we make it out of this – come home with me for the holidays.”

You blanch, and tried to step out of his arms. He doesn’t let you.

“Are you _high_? Like right _now_?”

“No need to get your -”

He was being serious, at the worst possible time, but it seemed . . . the stars had finally aligned.

“I’ll go if you don’t do anything _stupid_ when we walk out of this truck.”

And you meant it, on every level.

The doors slammed open.

“Holy _shit_.”

You would follow him to the ends of the earth. As the universe would have it, you’d get to do just that.

And now everyone knew it, too.


	2. Breathless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a requested companion piece to Anthology, so here we are loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i missed this corner of my world SO MUCH, and happy 2020 to all of you!! I would not have gotten back into writing this year if it wasnt for this show and all your kind love!!

Secret histories are hard to forget, hard to forgive.

Old bullet wounds are even _hard_ _er_ to forget, harder to get used to. They become difficult to forgive by extension, when every time you looked at one – all you saw was an old tragedy personified, the kind the ancient Greeks are known for.

Every time you touched a scar of that caliber, your breath hitched in your lungs as they fought to breathe, fought for life. A chill rose on your skin until it was all you could think about, and that _one memory_ settled in to remind you of that _one scare_ over and over and _over_ again. It was like a broken record, and you really _couldn’t stand_ a broken record.

Every time you remembered, every time your fingertips brushed over the fresh damage on Lex’s chest – you were reminded how fragile everything around you could be, how fragile all of it _really_ was. How you could get used to most things, in time, but you’re not sure if this would ever be one of them.

He shakes it off, of course, every time you mentioned it. Every time your touch lingered just a _little bit longer_ – because even though it scared you, it was like a train-wreck you could not look away from. He shakes it off, because of course he does.

Lex thought he was going to die that night, blood staining his skin, your hands, blossoming over his clothes like a nocturnal flower that woke with the first scent of death on the wind.

As the universe would have it, you would be the next to behold a new secret history, a new scar or two.

Except these were from blades that pierced your body in all the right places, from rough, jagged concrete that tore into you like the biggest threat it had ever faced. Except you were not going to brush these off, because that was not a path you would choose for yourself. Lex was on his own.

He was simply at the wrong place, wrong time. But you, _well_. The attempt on your life one stormy afternoon – that was _planned_. It was intentional. And it was executed poorly, because _you_ were not the one executed; not the one sprawled out, eyes glassy and glazed and unseeing. You were also not the one with a knife hugging your throat, blood painting your neck, your throat, like a vintage modern day masterpiece from Goya himself.

Self defense, and all that.

TLDR; finals were lording over King’s Dominion, and you were about to dethrone Saya Kuroki from her coveted title of Valedictorian.

Her crew was _livid_.

“I don’t know what you think this will accomplish,” you said after your stay in the infirmary gracelessly ended. The healing wing was _historical_ , you were certain. Dark paneled wainscoting and terribly outdated wallpaper – solid colors with faded patches - a mere shell of what they once were in their prime. _Dulled with age,_ you thought, _better you than me. “_ I did just fine on my own, thanks.”

Marcus huffed a laugh across from you, eyeing the table of seething assassins no doubt, glaring metaphoric daggers at you, who remained injured but _alive_. You could feel it, the hostility seizing control of the air; a new plan to turn those false blades into real ones, into bigger numbers of their vanguard.

The stakes had risen, but you would be  _ready_ .

“You were bleeding and unconscious,” Petra added, fork impaled the food on her plate. Dramatic effect, no doubt. “For two days.”

“So you guys think _the buddy system_ is going to save me from their next move? They waited until I was alone, they’ll do it again.”

“Yes, because waiting around for them to kill you, is the _best option_ -”

“ _Try._ Try to kill me -” you interrupted Marcus, noticed his eyes drift to Lex seated sulking beside you. The words died in your throat, a hunter hitting their mark.

Maybe  _you_ wanted to meet this head on, wanted to notice your healing wounds and acknowledge them  with little regard to  _what ifs_ – but Lex was still . . .  _Lex_ . One who was still not  as familiar with words  as he was a bullet, or  expression as he was with which punk scene was superior,  or  _this_ , really,  the relationship you threw yourselves into on a night where you thought you would never see the sun rise again.

H e,  who  _always_ had something to say –  was staying out of this conversation an  uncharacteristically long time.

Until he wasn’t.

“Maybe Marcus can talk his _girlfriend_ into calling off her cronies instead,” his voice was sharp, the hand on your thigh tightened just _a little bit_ more. He was _angry_ , that much was painted in black and white. And he was _scared_ , but you were the only one who knew. You, who had spent more time learning his tells than even Billy had.

Lex was the one who found you, after all.

It had just begun to rain, that dreadful afternoon. The blood pooling below you was turning pink, running away from your body. Sunk into the ground as it rained harder and harder and harder still.

(It would have made a beautiful watercolor painting – a Louvre worthy Impressionism -  you imagined, had it not been  _real_ .)

You remember ed flashes – his eyes  that  scream ed , arms  wound tight around you – recalled  a voice yelling to  _stay with_ _me_ , but it was far, far away, and the thunder was  so loud.

You remember ed the sky cr ied tears of rain,  while your body cr ied tears of blood.

But Saya Kuroki’s wrists were bound; she would do nothing, because in doing  _anything_ – that would be weakness, and weakness was not tolerated in her Syndicate, in King’s Dominion, in this life. You were friends, and you didn’t hold it against her.

“I could stop, you know,” you said that night. The graveyard was blissfully empty at this hour, the moon a small silver crescent playing hide and seek with navy-grey clouds. It’s faint light shown through the opaque wisps to shine down over the city, bathe it in glory you weren’t sure this planet deserved. It reflected off the metal on Lex’s leather, and it made your heart come alive when you looked at him, glowing under the black sky above.

Neither of you wore masks anymore, not around each other. You threw them away when you threw secrecy to the wolves, illuminated all the secret histories you had buried beneath you.

“Stop what?” he asked, eyes cast out over the darkened courtyards of campus, over rare lights in windows and abandoned alley-ways hiding their own secrets buried deep.

Lex knew what you meant. He just wanted to hear you say it.

“All of it,” you answered. “Slow down, at least. Let Saya be crowned by a landslide. I could finish second.”

“Why the holy _fuck_ would you do that?” he turned to you now, dripped disapproval like poison, wore it like a second skin.

This time it was _you_ who looked away, looked up and watched the clouds drift in front of the moon, slow and steady. Watched them hover just for a second, before freeing her yet again.

T he world was becoming so, so heavy. You were becoming so, so tired.

“I don’t want you to _worry_ ,” the words were out before you decided to say them. “Any of you. Everything changed after Chester, and now _this_ , and it’s -” you huffed a laugh. “It’s not doing us any _favors_ , Lex.”

He was silent, closed the distance between you after a moment, then another.  There were hands, warm and solid on your waist; your eyes glided down from the heavens to the world in front of you,  not the one below you . Lex spoke your name like a prayer, because he swore you were a sonnet personified.

Y ou knew what he was going to say.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to bow down and _let_ them win,” he said, voice quiet, passionate and fiery in the way only Lex Miller could achieve. “You’re going to see this through, but I won’t let you do it without me, love.”

All holy hell was about to break loose.

Your lips quirked up in a smile, and you felt his hand twine with yours as the moon disappeared into the night once more.


End file.
